In the uninhabitable east Antarctica desert, a man's legs tussle between thick and deep snow.
5 feet 9 inches wearing a cyan wool hat with a white pom pom that wiggled, fleece lined neck buff hugging his neck, vivid orange coat, fitted zipper and velcro pockets, fitted larger inner pockets, dingy grey gloves, inky skiing trousers concluded with rubber, ski goggles and pages of a small book bound together a flexible red binding engraved in the middle 'The Higher Reality' while near the bottom it reads written by Dr. eldritch, a big dry bag taking a ride on his back.
"What the *** is that circular metal object comparable to that of the sewer hole but with a more ritualistic flavour... or more aboriginal to the more liberal representatives of society" he mentioned with his eyebrows down but not drawn together accompanied by vertical creases, eyes had the lower lid raised and his lower face had cheeks uplifted, upper lip had elevated, tongue struggling to escape the choomers seal before kneeling down to brush off the rest of the snow to somewhat uncover or if any further meaning to such an artefact in such an explored piece of land man.
He opened the book with chapter 1 entitled...
The Last Spelaea
This causes his impermeable scowl into a huge grin that almost disappears into his temple warmer. After, a short introductory paragraph was a rough sketch of the artefact labelled Awakening Place, with the diagram showing it to be one metre in length and three inches thick.
Much to the traveller's disappointment, it did not provide any translation, not even a sentence of the inscriptions. The artefact had engravings which were a mixture of cat claws that had the liking of Viking runes but the grammar of Eskimo-Aleut language.
"*** barbarians and Eskimos making my job harder", he spat venomously and gripped the book tighter before he grudgingly focus his eyes back on the current page. He looked at the illustration of the Panthera Spelaea; it had a sense of familiarity with the modern African lion. In contrast, though it lacks a mane, twelve per cent larger with a dense coat of compressed white wavy downy hair, and a smaller mass of darker coloured guard hairs.
A delightful rant followed of the supposed sunken Spelaea island that came across as ludicrous as Plato's Atlantis before skimming down the page as the traveller reached a poem or summoning spell he could not tell. It read.
He who all knowledge laid hidden away
Recite these words to see such an entity today
Brrol of Spelaea island oh great guardian
Keeper of the secrets of old
Give me a reason to trust something foretold
He recited the words with such a monotonous tone it made 1970s text to speech sound eccentric but to no avail. He repeated the summoning chant. Still nothing.
" I knew this book was the typed word of a Hack," He said with a smug grin sown to his face before flinging the book away like a frisbee. He bent his fingers inwards the palm while making his thumb lay across his middle finger.
A Cold breath followed by a few snarls surrounded him in an instant. He froze where he stood. He turned around to see.
The Last Spelaea.
He trips over himself. His body almost sprawled over the artefact.
The creature takes a deep breath through the nose as it prowls towards the lone explorer.
" Who dares wake me from my slumber" A voice boomed as the snow beneath danced with pace so wildly. Its tail swished with intent from left to right. It stared as those eyes, unmoved, blackened like an abyss of space, with only the glimmer being the sparkle of the stars getting reflected.
The man lets out a whimper since all that masculine rarr rarr was gone. In its place was a shivering lip. A hand discreetly slipped into the coat as the rest of his body lay there already being tucked in by the snow. Slowly, he pulled out a pistol. A Glock nineteen, to be exact. As his hand shook
BANG.
Side of the skin tears off the bone. Exposing a cheekbone that was as white as milk, dripping in the antarctic sink. Slowly, it turned its head as its wound healed in a blink then you will miss it in the moment.
" What the *** are you?" The Man demanded an answer
The creature growled and then flashed its teeth in a malevolent grin before scratching at the inner wrist leading the man to involuntarily release the pistol. The blood dripped and the frost crept into the cracks of the split skin. His eyes widened as he felt a claw penetrating into his side. Not long before the big cat bit his hand off whole in one bite. It regurgitated it out. He looked back at the feline with an open mouth and widened eyes in a perpetual state of fear.
The feline spat out the fabric in revulsion before a murmur of the wind blew the snow for sheer moments. When it settled, the Spelaea was gone but so was the man. All that was left were the strips of orange and grey fabric along a vague smell of rust alongside the higher reality book. The publication was open on page three with the following quote:
"To fear the intellectual apes is cowardice since they do not cease, they simply take, take and take from each other while diminishing the surrounding habitat, such a phenomenon must be dealt with accordingly"
